


this is the way that we love, like it's forever

by wajjs



Series: Across The Universe (vld fics) [21]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Gen, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build, Slow Burn, rating might change in the future, the au no one asked for but i decided to write anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-08 12:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14694039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wajjs/pseuds/wajjs
Summary: One remembers, two don't.  He will try to bring them back together, somehow, even if it must be in another world.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a oneshot I started writing to destress and suddenly it developed a plot.  
> Here's to hoping this has a happy ending. There are enough sad endings in this world already
> 
> Title comes from Mika's song "Happy Ending". There's something about that song that always makes me write...

** ( then live the rest of our life, but not together) **

 

**1**

 

 

   The rift extends to a length far beyond what he can see.  His eardrums throb painfully with the howl of the wind that comes from within the fracture splitting the land in two, though it’s his chest the one that hurts the most.  

   He sobs out in dismay, extending a shaking hand towards the blinding lights that mock the magic of aurora borealis. He extends his hand even though he knows he won’t be able to reach anything, he won’t be able to bring anything, anyone, back, no, not this way. 

   More and more sobs fight their way up his chest and lodge in his throat, making it hard to breathe, making his eyes sting with tears that rush to fall in elegant cascades down his cheeks.  He’s barely taking in any air and he cannot do anything but gasp and sob and cry— if he had been better, if he had been faster, if he hadn’t doubted at the very last moment—

   The howl becomes louder and his heart seizes: it sounds like the earth itself is screaming out in pain.  There’s a haunting thought that strikes him: this is his fault.

 

   He falls to his knees and digs his fingers into the soil, grass pressing against his palms and bending with no resistance.  His blue eyes scan the rift again, dismay clear as day in them, his tears making them shine brighter than ever— but the lights blind him and taunt him, they make a fool of him, a bigger one than the one he always happened to be.  

   The wind now stabs at his entire being and freezes him to the core.  This is what he brings: destruction.

   If his doubts hadn’t won him over during that crucial moment, none of this would’ve happened.  But he’s nothing else other than a heartbroken, defeated shell of anything but a man now, and even his most hateful words towards himself do little to further open the disrupting cracks that split him in so many deceptively beautiful shards.  

  His shoulders slump and he sits on his heels, all his energy having now left him. He can’t even cry anymore. He’s been defeated.

 

   His voice is a broken whisper that doesn’t breach the wind when he asks: “Do I have to lose everything?”

   From the lights millions of screams resonate towards the night sky, black as poison, as rotten cores of apples, as the ink that beings more powerful than anyone use to write destinies and death sentences.

   _What are you willing to give in exchange for everything?_ someone asks from the deafening cacophony of sound 

   and Lance doesn’t need to think twice when he says: “My life.”

 

   — _ Life, memories of ever existing on this earth, every little action that is a witness of me walking these lands: everything of me, in exchange for everything of the rest _ —

 

_  Deal _ , the lights say and the wind no longer stabs at his being.  Instead it cradles him, consoles him, yet does nothing to mend him back into an entire unity, deciding that the sound of his little deceptively beautiful shards rattling one against the other is far more beautiful than anything else on any realm.

_ Deal _ , the lights say, and Lance is gone with the rift and there's no one to remember.

 

—

 

   He stands in front of the mirror and smoothes out his shirt once he’s done buttoning it.  He feels the soft edges of the bandages tightly wrapped around his chest as he drags them down his chest in a fruitless effort to will away the wrinkles.  The shirt’s been folded for far too long and not kept in the best of places. Luckily, the blood stains had been washed away; he doesn’t want to wear something that carries a grim reminder of what almost happened.

   Putting on a leather vest, he then moves towards the broad door, picking up his belt and sword in the process.  The sole of his boots scraping against the wooden floor, he finishes adjusting his belt as he walks out of the bedroom, closing the door behind his back.

   The narrow hallway is empty—no one is lounging around waiting for him to attempt to end his bedrest earlier than recommended, and so he allows himself a smile.  He isn’t in the mood to discuss with others what’s good and what’s not for his own health. He knows himself, and he does know his own limits very well. It’s a bit irritating when others don’t trust him in that matter, though he guesses he’s given them reasons to behave that way.

 

   The sound of voices guides him to the dining room.  The door is open and, without needing to enter the room, he can easily see that everyone’s gathered there already, plates of food on the table, cups of wine, mead and ale accompanying every dish.

   “Shiro!,” Coran exclaims as he walks in from the kitchen and being the first to see him hovering on the other entrance, “You’re up!”

   “I am,” he says with a small smile and walks to one of the tables, sitting at the end of a long bench, “I also happen to be hungry.”

   “You shouldn’t be up yet,” Keith huffs from where he’s sitting in front of Shiro, crossing his arms over his chest, “you are injured and—”

   “And I’m all better now, Keith,” Shiro says with a sigh, picking up his fork and twirling it between his thumb and index finger.  At the impassive stare he receives, he sets the utensil down again, offering the other a smile to try and calm him down, “I’m honest.  I’m all better.”

   “I wonder why I can’t believe that.”

   “Come on, Keith,” Hunk grins as he ruffles Keith’s hair good-naturedly, “Shiro knows what he’s doing.  If he says he’s alright, he’s alright!”

 

   The atmosphere is easy and lighthearted, even after a few rounds of ale, and Shiro looks at his friends (his family, if he’s being honest, the only family that matters) and smiles brightly with the aid of the sun in his heart.  He doesn’t notice that the empty space at the table was once occupied—he doesn’t remember, no one does, and no one notices because the rift took it, took everything of someone that no longer is.

   Katie finishes cleaning her plate, dragging what’s left of her bread over leftover sauce before eating it when she asks: “Has anyone seen Matt?”

 

— 

 

   There’s a part of the forest no one goes to.  Life fights its right to be there and doesn’t usually succeed.  The trees look sick, like they are agonizing, like they’ve been agonizing for ages, and the land looks like it once was split in two.

   Many tales have surged about the reason of the clear line breaching the ground in two easily defined parts.  Some say it’s the place where the world stitched itself into one big unity. Some say it’s the result of forbidden magic.  Some say it’s the sign that this world is breached by both its birth and its death, and so, when the end comes, it will be this rift the one to destroy everything.

   But these tales are just a handful of the ones told and these tales are the last thing Matt thinks of as he cautiously approaches the line of sunken land.  Perhaps it's a bad idea to come anywhere close to it, but he can't  _ not _ do it.

   There's something — there's _something_ that's been calling to him, haunting his dreams, teasing his memories, keeping him alert at all times.  It's a something that feels known, feels familiar, feels important, and he can't keep ignoring it any longer.

 

   And he's tried to talk about it.  Talk about this certainty that there's something pivotal they are all forgetting, yet no one is ever willing to listen.  Not since the accident that costed so much, that almost made them lose Shiro… again.

   It was because of him insisting on studying this breach that the accident happened.  It was his fault that so many people, including Shiro, including himself, were hurt.

   But he just can't leave it alone.  He has to know, he has to— _he has to know_ that this isn't craziness, that there is something behind this.

   Maybe it's the fever that hasn't come down in days, maybe it's the lack of proper sleep, maybe it's the desperation tainting his thoughts what makes him kneel right on the edge of the breach.  There is something indescribable there, something hauntingly sad, something that viciously tears at his heart with a violence that reeks of defense and despair.

 

   And Matt thinks of his sister for one long silent moment.  Thinks that he hasn't told her he was going out, thinks that he hasn't said goodbye.  Thinks that maybe he should have. Maybe he should have, because this rift reeks of hopelessness, of heartbreak, of the cries of someone who never got their chance at seeing someone for the last time.

   A cold unwelcoming wind kicks up from the depths of the rift, depths Matt cannot see.  It’s a wind that tells him to go away or else demons and monsters shall come. It tells him to go back to everyone he adores, to go back and never return, because here lies love that is lost.  

   But he digs his fingers into the dry soil and grips onto the edge with all his soul.

   He needs to know.   _ He needs to know. _

 

   And the wind picks up, soon followed by many more.  They scream at him and they howl loud, louder,  _ louder _ .

   And Matt sobs, shaking, because he can’t remember but the feeling is unmistakable:

_ “What have you made me forget?!” _

 

   The ghostly hands of a myriad of voices push him, and inside the breach he falls.

 

°°°


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember me for who I was...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the lyrics/poems you read here were written by me! Please don't use them without asking me first...
> 
> My amazing friend Pebble ([Atalto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atalto/pseuds/Atalto) here on ao3) composed and recorded the melody of the song Shiro's singing! You can listen to it on tumblr [HERE](https://svendidntdieforthis.tumblr.com/post/174301824523/ha-i-told-yall-that-one-day-id-subject-you-to)!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH BUDDY! You're the best qq

 

 

**2**

 

 

_ There is a place that holds our love true, _

_ truer than the hues of me and you, _

_ truer than the winds that divide in two _

_ the land in which our love is due. _

 

_ There is a place that holds our love true, _

_ there is a place that split in two _

_ with a promise to let you live _

_ when everything else was doomed. _

 

—

 

   Shiro’s fingertips move expertly along the chords of the instrument.  The wooden piece rests on top of his thighs as he idly sings, and his eyes close as a faint smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

   He’s singing what his mother used to sing to him so beautifully each night before going to sleep.  A tale of birds and rivers, of lovers meeting at midnight, of great distances and found hope. It’s a song that always calms him down, that makes him feel safe inside his mind, that makes him think not all is lost.

   Everyone is lazing around on the benches, round-bellied and cheeks red-tinted.  It had been a good meal, perhaps one of the best they’ve had in a long time. Maybe that’s why Shiro decided to sing.  It felt right, he tells himself then, and smiles wider when he opens his eyes again and sees that Keith is falling asleep with his head on the table.

 

“ _ Oh Bluebird of bright skies, _ ” he croons and drags his fingertips across the chords, “ _ bring forth the night with its stars… _

_ bring forth the winds of tomorrowland, _

_ bring forth the chance to have him back… _

      “Does anyone know where’s Matt?,” Katie asks again after coming back from her brother’s room, though only Coran hears her, the rest being so enraptured in Shiro’s singing:

_ Oh bluebird, bluebird of clear skies… _

      “He’s not in his room?”

      “I just came back from there and— 

_ why can’t the way be clearer, _

_ why must clouds gather on land, _

      —I only found blood stained bandages on the bed! He’s not supposed to be up!”

_ oh tell me, why must we be far apart… _

      “That’s strange… I checked in on him earlier this morning and he didn’t look like he wanted to get up any time soon…”

_ Oh blue, bluest bird of clear skies, _

      “I’ve searched the entire place already! What if—

_ why don’t these tears I shed dry, _

      —what if… if he went to…?”

_ why can’t I hold him in my arms, _

      “Now, let’s not jump to conclusions so fast! Have you checked the well? Perhaps he went there, you know that’s his safe spot around here”

_ why can’t I just have him back? _

 

   Heavy steps announce the arrival of someone new before anyone sees them.  They are fast up the corridor and soon the person they belong to appears on the threshold.

   Shiro’s fingers leave the instrument abruptly and his mouth snaps shut.  Everyone turns their heads to the entrance, waiting for whatever urgent news the person brings to be delivered.

 

   Nyma gasps and wipes the beads of sweat forming on her upper lip with the back of her hand.  From the entrance she looks around the room for a moment until her eyes finally find the one she’s been looking for.

   There’s already a grimace on her face before she even starts talking.  There is a reason she always hated her post in one of the oriental watchtowers.  It always meant being the bearer of bad news.

 

   “I’m. I’m sorry, Katie,” Nyma says, the lines on her face uncomfortably tight,  “Matt is—”

 

—

 

   Startling awake with a gasp, he opens his eyes wide and sits up in one fluid movement.  Immediately he regrets this reaction: his head throbs and it feels like he has quite a few bruised ribs that are now protesting the abrupt change of position. 

   Groaning, he lifts a hand to gingerly press it to one of his sides, the one that hurts the most.  Only then does he finally look at his surroundings, eyes squinting a bit as he gets used to the lights around him.

   Or more like… light.  

   A single flame from a stubby candle flickers, twists and undulates under a gentle gust of wind coming from somewhere on his right.  It doesn’t illuminate much, only enough to let him realize that he’s on a bed and that there’s a large desk (where the candle is sitting) a handful of steps away.

 

   It’s hard to tell if there is more furniture or if whoever his rescuer is doesn’t invest much on decorations.  Well, ‘ _ rescuer _ ’.  He’s already jumping to two assumptions, in however long he’s been awake, about the things that make the identity of the person who brought him to this room.

   But the darkness is slowly gnawing at his thoughts like a snake that bites its own tail, so he settles on the idea of ‘rescuer’ for the moment because he needs at least a minimal sense of security.  After all, he’s not tied or chained to the bed. That has to be accountable for something, right?  _ Right? _

 

   Slowly, he pushes the covers off and stands up from the bed on unsteady legs.  He doesn’t think about his odds of running away as he walks towards the candle because—because, well, those odds aren’t very high.  Better not to think about them for now.

   With the candle on his hand, he drags his feet on the floor and slowly moves perpendicular to the desk towards where he assumes a door must be.  Pain, white hot pain laces up his sides with each slow step. There’s sweat on the back of his neck making his hair clump uncomfortably and he’s breathing hard, each breath more laboured than the other.

   That’s when the door swings open and his eyes are stabbed by the flash of a light whiter and brighter than any light he’s seen— _ a divine light _ , he thinks in astonishment as he takes a single step backwards…

        and proceeds to fall flat on his ass.

   It soothes his ego somewhat that at least he didn’t yelp in the presence of heavenly fire.

 

   “Oh my gosh!,” the light cries out in a very human-sounding voice, and he lifts a hand to cover his eyes with the back of it because this is  _ too much _ , “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, are you alright?!”

 

   His heart thumping wildly in his chest, he cannot even fully finish to process what was said to him when the divine light sits on the desk and a pair of sturdy hands help him back up, because… because  _ what? _

   Divine lights do not have hands, do they? But then again what does he know about divine lights, he's never encountered one before, so maybe they do? But if they do, how long are their arms then? How many arms do they have?  Why do they have arms, then? Plus, if they have arms then it also means they must have hands, right? But if so, how many? How many hands, how many f—

   And then he opens his eyes again and squints, brain on overdrive no longer computing the pain, and that’s when he sees that this is no divine light, oh no.  What he is seeing now is definitely the silhouette of a human face. His brain promptly refuses to catch up.

 

   “I, uh,” eloquently, he waits a moment to restart, “What?”

   “I’m really, really sorry—I didn't mean to startle you, but the lights went out shortly after I brought you in, and I was just going to check on you, I didn’t think you’d wake up so soon! and—”

   “Lights?,” he asks confusedly, glancing at the possibly-not-a-divine-light atop the desk.  It didn’t went out? But then again the stranger used a plural form, so maybe there were more? And maybe they weren’t shining as brightly anymore? They were put out, like the candle was put out the moment it fell on the floor?

   “Yes, there’s a blackout, this storm is really huge, gosh, let’s get you back to bed, alright? You shouldn’t be up—”

   That’s when his brain decides to jump back in.  Belatedly, he asks: “Where am I?”

 

   The question makes the stranger stop their awkward attempts at getting him back on the bed.  They glance at each other for a moment, one of them expecting an answer, the other shaken by the question.

   Just when the stranger asks: “Wait,  _ you don’t know? _ ”, the room suddenly and abruptly becomes brightly lit, and Matt sees a pair of shockingly blue eyes.

   A pair of eyes that bring memories flooding back.

 

   “Oh, geez, damn, that’s too bright too soon-,” the blue-eyed person [ _ Lance!, _ Matt’s brain screams at him from every direction,  _ Lance!! This is _ —], “It’s good that it came back, come on now, hop on the bed, you shouldn’t be up—”

   “Wait!,” Matt opens his own eyes wide and holds onto the other’s shoulders tightly, not willing to let go even if  Lance is making him sit on the bed once more, “Wait, yo—

   “Lance!,” someone with a voice Matt can’t recognize screams from the corridor, “You’re needed in the IC!”

 

   In a whirlwind, Lance, Lance,  _ Lance, the someone Matt had somehow managed to forget and oh gods if he forgot him then does it mean everyone else did too— _ , Lance leaves him sitting on the bed and picks up the strange cylinder with light coming out an extreme.

   “On my way!,” he yells back and turns to look at Matt in the fraction of a second, a flash of a smile on his face, “I’ll be back soon, stay in bed!”

   “No, wait—

 

—

 

   Everyone’s holding their breaths, eyes wide in horror, waiting for the moment the explosion comes and makes everything fall to the ground with its force.

   Shiro moves though each movement feels like he’s stuck underwater.  He’s clumsy when he leaves the instrument on the table, clumsy when he stands, heavy when he tries to take a single step towards Katie.  Katie, who is suddenly so still, so pale, so small against the weight of the universe coming down on her shoulders — she is no Atlas to be punished with such burden,

 

   she is no Atlas, no Atlas who stood against the winning side,

   she is too young, too soft,

       but burdens reach everyone, 

 

       they reach everyone and this is a rule of reality Shiro cannot deny or bend in any shape whatsoever, though he wishes he could.  He wishes for a speck of magic, of blue energy, to stop it from being an unwavering truth.

 

   Katie stands tall for moments that feel like an eternity and neither Shiro or Coran can move fast enough for when she finally quakes and crumbles, falling onto her knees, a half-sob half-scream tearing through her chest and breaking apart her ribs.  She doesn’t look at anybody even though everybody’s looking at her. Matt is gone, she repeats once, twice, over and over, Matt is gone, gone, _gone_ , but he promised he wouldn’t be—

   Coran’s expression betrays his pain and his need to comfort.  Shiro can only look as if through a tinted glass when Coran kneels by Katie’s side and gathers her in his arms.

 

   Allura stands up abruptly, chair screeching against the floor, and starts yelling out orders—gather a search team, go grab this, go look for that, they are going to investigate The Breach, maybe Matt is—

maybe Matt is, everyone focuses on that prayer, maybe Matt is—

 

    But Shiro can barely breathe.  

    He looks out of the window and all he sees are tall blue flowers covering everything, swaying with the wind.

 

°°°

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to look for an instrument I imagined Shiro could play that wasn't the typical stringed instrument, and after a bit of searching I learned about the existence of the [kantele](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kantele). So picture Shiro playing a small one while singing, trying to reproduce the melody of the old song as best as he can with that instrument!
> 
> I hope you guys liked this chapter. I'm out of my comfort zone with this story, and writing it is proving to be both a challenge and a very fulfilling activity :')


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